


A Glorious Mess

by wyntereyez



Series: Talk to the Hand [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, Crossdressing, F/M, Gender Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntereyez/pseuds/wyntereyez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Rose share their first Christmas together. This uses the ‘first Christmas’ fic cliché.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Doctor's Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ and ff.net Christmas 2010.

_One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas day. Don't clean it up too quickly._ ~Andy Rooney 

 

**Part One – The Doctor’s Christmas**

 

Three weeks into his short, part-human life, the Doctor realises it’s nearly Christmas.

It isn’t really his fault he’s slow to catch on; he’s been busy learning about human things, like shopping (which is no longer as much fun now that Rose expects him to pay for things himself) and cleaning (which the flat doesn’t do on its own; reason #427 it’s not better than a TARDIS) and shagging and job-hunting and hygiene (which he has to attend to every single day – this is entirely the fault of Donna and her genetics) and gossip and more shagging, as well as doing part-time consultation work at Torchwood. Which has also involved shagging, usually on Rose’s desk. He likes that word, shagging. Even though there’s nothing shaggy about it. It’s more… sticky, he’s decided. But Rose refuses to let him call it ‘sticking.’

The point being, he has so much to take in that he’s missed all the signs of the impending holiday.

He’s home alone when he finds out; Rose is on a mission out of town that could take several days. It’s his first time since his birth that he’s been alone for longer than a day, and he’d rapidly come to the conclusion he doesn’t like it. This incarnation is a social butterfly, and the addition of ‘human’ – a naturally social species – into his makeup has only made him feel his loneliness more acutely.

He tries to fill his days with human things like job-hunting, which is easier now that Rose has edited his CV so it no longer reads like an epic science fiction novel. He’d submitted it, along with a couple of samples of his writing, to various gossip magazines. He also tries cleaning, which he isn’t quite so good at; the appliances are too slow and inefficient, the chemicals make him woozy, and he seems to be allergic to dust bunnies. Despite his promise to Rose that he’ll clean up after himself, he decides the dishes don’t need cleaning right away.

He’s even putting more effort than usual in practicing ‘normal’ human quirks, for when he’s in public, such as working on remembering to keep the toilet seat up. Apparently, this is Normal Bloke Behaviour and both Rose and Jackie had stared at him like he’d grown another head when they learned he put the seat down without scolding. He’s quite proud of himself; he’d managed to leave it up a full hour before his inner Donna yelled at him to put it down NOW.

But there’s definitely something wrong, and it takes him 25.7 hours to finally come to the conclusion that he’s bored with playing at being human. And more than a little lonely.

He then decided then it’s the perfect time to work on his little ‘special project.’

He’s sprawled across the living room floor, Rose’s laptop in pieces before him. At his side, wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket he’d picked up earlier that day, is the TARDIS coral. He keeps up a steady babble as he picks through the computer’s components, and feels her contentment in return. She hasn’t reached the point yet where she can really connect with him mentally, but he can pick up on her basic emotions, and she loves listening to him talk.

The fish-bowl nutrient vat he’d constructed to help the coral grow is sitting in the corner, nestled amongst equipment that he’s mostly sure Torchwood won’t mind that he’d borrowed. After all, he figures, he’s going to make sure it’s back in place before anyone notices. It’s just that she’s at a crucial stage of her development, and he wants to be on hand for it.

That, and he doesn’t like talking to himself.

He has the television on, and is only half-listening to the news in hopes of a juicy piece of celebrity gossip. Or an alien invasion. Mostly, he just wants a hint of what Rose is up to, which could fall into either category.

It isn’t until what must have been the fiftieth repetition of the word ‘Christmas’ that he finally catches on, and his head jerks up.

He stares at the images of lights and trees on the screen. “Christmas?” he repeats. The date is displayed on the screen, and he gapes. The 23rd of December? His gaze darts around the flat, which is decidedly un-Christmas-y. There’s no tree (though, now that he thinks about it, he seems to recall Rose asking if he wanted one, and he’d thought the idea was a bit silly since the flat didn’t have ideal growing conditions) or decorations, or even presents.

His heart skips a beat. _Presents._ He’s supposed to give some of those, isn’t he? Isn’t that what boyfriends do? 

That Rose hadn’t said anything more was worrying. Did she just not expect much from him? Or was this some sneaky test, which he’d probably failed miserably?

The Doctor shoves the laptop to the side after separating out the components he’d wanted, and hops to his feet. Humans like Christmas, he knows, so there has to be something around, right? He scoops ups the TARDIS coral and begins to poke around the flat, checking every closet, ever box, every nook and cranny for some sign of Christmas.

All he finds are dust bunnies, which cling to his hair and suit in an insidious plot to smother the life out of him. As he frantically brushes down his suit while struggling to hold in his sneezes (because Time Lords do _not_ do anything as undignified as sneezing) he reflects on how odd this is. Rose doesn’t seem to own much beyond the basics, which is rather odd for humans.

It’s a surprisingly simple life for the heir to a huge fortune. Of course… she hadn’t expected to come back to Pete’s World. Still, her lack of Christmas décor is very telling. Had she not celebrated at all while they’d been separated?

And… why didn’t she want to celebrate them now? Sure, she’d asked him about a tree, but it hadn’t been with much enthusiasm, and she hadn’t pushed the issue. He sometimes wonders if she still regretted ending up with him and not the Time Lord Doctor, and this seems to support that.

No wonder she’d accepted the Christmas mission. 

He drops onto the sofa, the blanket-wrapped coral resting on his chest, and thinks. After a few minutes of having a good sulk, which he only lets himself do when no one is around to see it, he decides that this has nothing to do with Rose not wanting to spend Christmas with him; after all, if she didn’t want him, she would have tossed him out, and he’s fairly certain that they wouldn’t be shagging. So, Rose’s place is the Flat That Christmas Forgot for another reason.

Maybe she thinks he doesn’t want to celebrate it? His other self had compared him to his previous incarnation, who hadn’t liked domestic. Maybe she figures he’s the same way? Or maybe she thinks that, because he’s still an alien, no matter whose DNA is mixed with his, he won’t want to celebrate a human holiday. Maybe she mistook his obliviousness as a lack of interest in the holiday. Maybe she went on this mission to forget the fact that it’s yet another Christmas she won‘t be celebrating. Hell, for all he knows, this ‘mission’ is actually a huge Torchwood Christmas party that she didn’t think he’d be comfortable attending.

His shoulders slump at the thought. He wishes she’d given him the chance to prove that he would love to celebrate the holidays. Then he straightens. Why can’t he prove it? There’s nothing stopping him from bringing Christmas to their home. He’s brilliant, after all. How hard can it be for him to put something together for the holidays? 

Rose may not be back in time for Christmas, but he can at least give her a holiday to remember when she comes back.

Besides, it’s his first Christmas as a half-human, and he wants to have the full Christmas experience.

The Doctor pulls on his jacket and tucks the TARDIS coral into an inner pocket by his chest. She’s still small enough that he only looks slightly like he has one breast, but he doesn’t notice. She likes being this close to him, and he absently strokes the bump as he heads outside.

Going by the weather, it would be impossible to tell it’s nearly Christmas. The environment is still suffering the effects of dimension hopping, and it feels more like a warm fall evening than a wintry one. According to his calculations, it could take years before the environment returns to normal.

Even knowing what he’d see when he stepped outside, he can’t help but pout. It’s been years since he’d had a Christmas with real snow, and the streak obviously isn’t going to end any time soon.

He decides to take the Torchwood SUV, which he’d ‘borrowed’ under Rose’s name so he could bring home the TARDIS coral’s equipment. Christmas, he recalls, requires a lot of Stuff, and he wants to make sure he has room for it all.

He heads to the biggest shop in London (there are just some things that little shops can’t handle) and is immediately overwhelmed by crowds of last-minute shoppers. He prides himself on being an excellent shopper (no matter what Rose says) but this is too much for even him. He stops dead when he sees just how much stuff there actually is for Christmas, and wonders if it’s too late to scream and run. His Ninth self, he decides, had the right idea.

His panic is observed by a pair of shop associates, who had been hovering at the edge of the crowd where they can help when needed, but still have a clear path to flee to the exits if things get out of hand. He rather wishes he’d had the foresight to do that; already, the crowd has closed in around him, and he’s starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

The Doctor pushes his way over to the salespeople, a man and a woman who immediately put on false smiles. “Can we help you?” the woman asks.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” the Doctor says. “I need to buy a _lot_ of Christmas stuff, and I don’t know where to begin. I need a tree and decorations and presents - and do I really need a five foot tall stuffed snowman?” he wonders as a pair of customers walk past, carrying one between them.

The woman raises an eyebrow. “So, you don’t have anything for Christmas, then?” Her expression is calculating. ”

“Not a thing, and I have no idea where to even begin. It’s just… all this.” He gestures helplessly in the general direction of the seething mass of humanity (and some non-humans, he notes, but they seem to be of the tourist type rather than the take-over-the-planet sort that he’d actually welcome now). “I don’t know what to do! I’ve never actually celebrated Christmas before,” he finishes weakly. 

“How can you not know anything about Christmas?” the man blurts out, and the woman elbows him before he can say more and lose a potentially big commission.

“I do know about Christmas,” he says indignantly. “It’s just that this is my first Christmas as a human. Ish.”

The look this earns makes the Doctor realise he’s dangerously close to spending the holidays in a mental ward.

“I was… raised by wolves?” the Doctor hazards. “But don’t worry,” he adds hastily, seeing their alarmed expressions. “I don’t bite anymore. This is the first time I’m celebrating Christmas with my…” he hesitates. ‘Girlfriend’ just doesn’t seem appropriate. And he utterly refuses to say ‘better half’, no matter what Jackie says. “Companion,” he says finally.

This earns him matching strange, knowing looks from the salespeople, but he’s oblivious to them.

He’s given a crash course on Christmas by the woman, who’d won the right to be his holiday tutor via a coin toss. After about ten minutes of exposure to , he suffers from a sensory overload and everything becomes a blur of sound and colour. He’s probably going to wake up tomorrow morning with a huge headache and a number of purchases he doesn’t remember making that will offend his tastes. But he wants to give Rose the full human Christmas experience, and make up for what she’d missed when she’d been trapped here without him.

He does have a few clear memories, including examining all of the fake trees to make sure they aren’t remote-controlled killing machines, tasting a number of different bathing oils and lotions to identify the particular brands Rose favours (much to the horror of the saleswoman), and enthusiastically modeling lingerie before being told that maybe he’d be better off with a different gift and being dragged away.

He also recalls handing over his credit card. A _lot_. He hopes Rose forgives him for again maxing out his card for the second time in a month. He also hopes Pete will pay the bill again. This money thing is really a pain, now that he has to rely on it.

In the end, the Torchwood SUV isn’t enough, and he has to arrange for his purchases to be delivered to the flat. As two brawny men unload the boxes, the Doctor wonders absently if he might have gone overboard. 

Then he dismisses the thought. He was just showing Rose that he could do Christmas as well as any human. Better, really. He’d make sure that he’d give her a holiday she’d never forget.

He smiles at the towering stacks of boxes, and gets to work.

~tbc~


	2. Rose's Christmas

**Part Two – Rose’s Christmas**

 

“Hate you. Hate you forever,” Rose growls.

“I’ll live,” Jake says with a grin, raising the wig and settling it on Rose’s head.

“Why aren’t you doing this?”

“Because kids and I don’t get along,” Jake shrugs. “Remember the Rutellian circus?”

Rose shudders. “Point,” she concedes. Not that she’s much better with children, but her brother’s  
continued survival despite her baby-sitting attempts does put her ahead of Jake. “I don’t see why I couldn’t be an elf or something,” she grumbles.

“Because our universe doesn’t have something as ridiculous as elves making toys,” he says in that long-suffering tone he’s adapted for whenever she slips up.

Oh. Right. According the Christmas stories of this universe, Santa’s toys are made by giant robotic versions of the toys; ten foot tall nutcracker or teddy bear costumes would be even more unwieldy than what she’s wearing now.

“Smile,” Jake says suddenly, and Rose yelps when he snaps a photo with his mobile. “For Torchwood records,” he smirks.

“Forever,” Rose hisses as she lumbers to her feet and shuffles over to the dressing room’s full length mirror. Jake just laughs and snaps another picture.

Rose studies herself in the mirror, and has to admit it’s a good disguise - even her own mum wouldn’t recognize her. Still, when she thinks about undercover Torchwood missions, she thinks of casual clothing or uniforms or, in one case she hopes the Doctor never gets wind of, a stripper outfit. Those outfits all seem glamorous in comparison.

For this mission, she’s going out dressed as Santa Claus.

There’d been a string of mysterious collapses over the past week; something had siphoned off their energy. Nothing serious, since it only seems to be drawing small amounts from large crowds, but alarming nonetheless, especially since many of the victims are small children. Questioning had revealed the victims had all had one thing in common: they’d all been to see the Santa at the local Henrik’s on three different nights. They’d wanted to interrogate the Santas but all of three of them were out of commission, either unconscious or ill, thanks to a more severe energy drain.

Painstaking reviews of the CCTV footage had found a possible link between the incidents: an unattended child wearing a bright purple hat and scarf who’d appeared twice on camera. It acted like a normal child, going through the line and even sitting on Santa’s lap, but that was when things began to get strange. Both times, the child reached up and touched the Santa’s forehead before hopping off, seemingly without saying anything. Afterwards, the child would continue to show up in the camera footage at the edge of the crowd, and the Santa would look more and more out of it, before slipping into unconsciousness.

They’d staked out the Santa line the previous night, with no luck; not only had they seemingly scared the suspect away, but as two obviously childless adults skulking at the fringe of a crowd, they made parents suspicious as well. Jake is sporting a black eye from getting too close to a little girl in a purple hat who’d had a very overprotective mum.

So now Rose is spending her Christmas Eve eve by going out in public in a fat suit that nicely hides her age and gender, and Jake is dressed as a store security guard. Not exactly how she envisioned spending her holidays… but it’s more than she’s done over the past several years. And who knows, maybe she’ll even have fun!

~oOo~

Three hours later, Rose just wants the alien to show up so she can take out her frustration on it. Oh, most of the kids are cute, sweetly asking her for toys or ponies or even new siblings. Some of them, however, make Rose very glad she doesn’t have children of her own. She’s had to put up with children who kick and scream, and she knows her legs are developing some rather nice bruises. Then there are those with wet bottoms, because their parents didn’t want to pull out of the line to attend to their child’s needs. Some of them rattle off endless lists, and throw a screaming fit when Rose tries to gently prod them into letting the next child have a turn. But the worst are the children with rather disturbing requests, like the boy who wants a ray gun to use on his new baby sister so he can be his parents’ favourite again. What could she say to that?

She desperately wants it to show up tonight. If they can wrap things up quickly, she can get the paperwork done tomorrow and be home in time to spend Christmas Eve with the Doctor. She’s hoping to have time to ease him into the holiday before telling him they’re going to spend Christmas day with her mum.

Plus, she really doesn’t want to leave the Doctor alone for too long. She’s pretty certain that he’s the type who will destroy things when bored.

“Wake up, Rose, I’ve got a possible sighting about ten families back,” Jake says through her earpiece. Rose jerks up and looks where Jake directed. There, behind a family with identical triplets - oh, so not looking forward to that, multiples seemed to think they should be on her lap at the same time - was what looked like a lone child, its face obscured by a purple hat and scarf.

Rose tries to rush the children through the line, as Jake works his way closer to get a look at the ‘child.’ She wants as few people between her and the alien as possible when they make the grab. Unfortunately, the triplets are worse than she’d anticipated, and try to start a fight on her lap. Well, two of them do; the third seems to have caught on to the fact that she’s not a man and is poking her chest in fascination.

Finally, their mum calls them away after what seems an eternity (she was probably enjoying her blissful, child-free moment), and Rose sighs in relief. The alien has to be easier to handle than squabbling triplets. Rose plasters a phony smile on her face as, finally, the target comes up to her. And it’s definitely alien. She signals Jake one gloved hand, and he murmurs that he’s moving in to position.

It looks like a little boy, except his features are sharper, and his eyes are a brilliant amethyst. He’s about to hop onto her lap, when he suddenly catches sight of Jake, who is trying to move into position. With a hissing cry, he whirls around and runs, and Jake cries, “Get him!” Rose jumps to her feet and attempts to sprint after him. Unfortunately, the padding makes it harder than expected, so she tries a different tactic.

Rose launches herself in the air, arms outstretched to catch the alien. But just as her arms begin to close around him, he panics and freezes, and her momentum carries her over him.

Well, mostly.

SPLAT.

She’s managed to land right on top of the alien.

 _Oh, that can’t be good,_ Rose thinks as a purple fluid begins to seep sluggishly from beneath her.

Jake runs over to her, mouth hanging open. Around her, she hears high-pitched screams and sobs, and Rose turns her head to see the crowd of parents and children staring at her in terror. “I hope we brought enough Retcon,” Jake says, his voice strained as he tries to hold back a laugh. “Otherwise, you may have just scarred these children for life.” He snaps another picture, this time making sure to get the terrified children in the background.

“Hate you,” Rose reminds him flatly. “Forever.”

~oOo~

There is enough Retcon, fortunately, but Rose suspects the children will spend the rest of their lives having nightmares about Santa smashing them if they were naughty.

Unfortunately, they couldn’t get the purple blood off the suit in time to return it to the rental place, and Rose had not only lost her deposit, but had been forced to buy the suit. Torchwood tech had later managed to completely clean it, and now she’s the bemused new owner of a Santa outfit. She’s not sure just what she’s going to do with it, but in her line of work, it’s always possible she’ll encounter aliens who only dealt with jolly fat holiday icons.

She manages to make it back to her flat before midnight. Still Christmas Eve, she thinks with relief. She’d wanted to get home sooner, but the paperwork for accidentally crushing an alien and then Retconning children took most of the day. It hadn’t helped that there’d been a Christmas party at the Torchwood field office, and her ears are still ringing from the blaring Christmas music. And she’s a bit nauseous from too much chocolate. She just wants to spend a quiet evening with the Doctor, and not worry about Christmas until tomorrow.

After a perilous moment of juggling the suit and a wrapped present around until she can reach her keys, she opens the door to the flat, and stares in consternation as the door stops halfway. Rose squeezes through the gap, and gapes in astonishment. She has to check the number on the door to make sure its actually her flat and not the North Pole.

“What the hell?” she yelps. 

There’s a tree in the corner, so tightly wrapped with lights that at first she isn’t sure there’s a tree beneath them. There are wreaths, garlands, more lights, an inflatable sleigh and reindeer that she’s sure is meant as a yard ornament, the giant stuffed snowman that was blocking the door, and piles of wrapped packages are spilled across the floor. Fake snow has been sprayed all over the windows, furniture, and television. The only thing that seems to be missing is the mistletoe.

So much for easing the Doctor into Christmas. He seems to have run headlong into it and it exploded on impact.

He’s fast asleep on the sofa, his clothing rumpled and his hair more askew than usual. He’s holding something wrapped in a pink blanket in his arms. There’s a bow stuck to his temple, and tinsel in his hair. Rose drops the Santa suit and the present on the coffee table, then leans forward and kisses him.

Oooh. He’d found peppermint lip gloss. 

His eyes snap open, and he blinks blearily for a few moments, before croaking out, “Rose? Rose! You’re home!” He struggles into a sitting position. “How was the mission?”

Rose bites back a sharp laugh. “Oh, you know how it is. Stopped the bad alien, traumatized several dozen small children. The usual.” She turns from him and makes a point of examining the chaos that had once been her flat. “What happened here? Or do I want to know?”

“Oh, I just… decorated.” He shrugs casually, but she can see that he’s pleased with himself. 

“Is that all?’ she says weakly. She wonders how she’s going to explain to Pete that he’s going to have to pay off the Doctor’s credit card _again._ She’s going to have to take it from the Doctor and hide it until he gets a job and can pay for these things himself.

“You didn’t have any Christmas decorations, and I thought…” he ran his hand through his hair, dislodging the bow. He blinks at it in confusion as it falls to the floor. “I thought maybe you thought I didn’t want to celebrate it with you.”

“You’ve only been here for three weeks. I didn’t want it to feel like I was trying to pressure you into anything.” 

“Don’t you know me?” he snorts. “I want to experience everything. I would have loved picking out a tree with you - you could have protected me from the salespeople!” 

He can save the universe without breaking a sweat, but apparently salespeople terrify him.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to make it look like I didn’t want to share Christmas with you. I just… I’m out of the habit of celebrating. That’s why I don’t have anything, and never really gave much this Christmas much thought. I was ready to leave this world at a moment’s notice, so I kept my life simple. I don’t have anything for Christmas, or Halloween, or any other holiday. When I want to celebrate, I go to Mum’s, but I haven’t had anything to celebrate on my own.” She lightly brushed his stubbled cheek. “I do now, though.”

He tilts his face forward, and she closes her eyes, ready to meet his kiss. Instead…

“Is that a Santa outfit?” he blurts out.

Rose had forgotten about the suit, which is still sitting on the table. “Er, yeah. It was part of the mission.”

“Were there reindeer involved?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Ha,” she mutters.

“Don’t you mean, ‘ho?’” he asks mischievously. Then his grin widens. “Sooo, are you going to model it for me?”

No way in hell is Rose getting back into that outfit. “I picked up something for you while I was away.” She gestures to the package she’d set on the coffee table. She has more presents for him, but she’d hidden them at her mum’s.

“A present? For me?” He beams, looking like he’d just won the lottery. He tears into the wrapping like an excited child. “Oh, Rose, thank - What is that?” he yowls, dropping the box as if burned. Rose scoops up the box and pulls out the contents.

The sweater is an atrocity: a riot of colour and holiday images that make it look as if the spirit of Christmas was sick all over it. The background is made up of red, white, and green vertical strips, each with a pattern of candy canes, trees, and mistletoe. Stitched to the front are cloth cut-outs of an enormously obese Santa, an anatomically incorrect Rudolph, and a Christmas tree surrounded by technicolour presents and toys.

The Doctor stares at it, speechless. Rose decides that that alone makes it worth the price. “It’s…” he begins, then stops. “Uh…”

“Isn’t it something?” she grins.

“Yeah, it’s something all right,” he says weakly.

“Ugly holiday sweaters are a tradition here,” she says, as he continues to fumble for something to say that’s both appropriate and polite. “That’s the most hideous one I could find that would fit you.”

He eyes her uncertainly, clearly wondering if she’s making a joke at his expense. When he makes no move to touch the sweater, Rose sighs. “If you put it on, I’ll wear the Santa outfit for you, all right?”

He pokes it tentatively, as though expecting (hoping?) it would reveal itself to be some sort of monstrous life form he could cleverly vanquish. When nothing happens, he takes the sweater from Rose and pulls it on over his wrinkled T-shirt.

“Very handsome,” she says, attempting to keep a straight face and failing miserably. The Doctor scowls, but then brightens.

“Since you let me open something, it’s only fair that you do, too!” he says, bouncing over to the tree and pulling out a wrapped package, which he presents with a flourish. “Here!”

Rose can’t help but smile as she accepts it and slowly tugs at the wrapping, and the Doctor rocks on his feet impatiently. She increases her speed when it starts to look like he’s going to take the present from her and open it himself to rush things along.

“It’s a toaster,” she says, puzzled. “A nice one, but we already have one.”

“Um…” the Doctor rubs the back of his neck. Uh-oh. “Not any more, we don’t.”

This is why she doesn’t like leaving him home alone. Rose suppresses a groan. “What happened to the toaster?”

“Er… I wanted it to toast the bread faster, so I did a bit of jiggery-pokery. I think it travels through time now,” he says, shamefaced.

Rose decides she doesn’t want to know. Plausible deniability will be a good thing if conspiracy theorists spot her toaster in the photos from Kennedy’s assassination. “You…” she says, exasperated, then bursts out laughing and pulls him into a hug, resting her head against his chest. “What am I going to do with you?” she gasps out.

“Ho, ho, ho!” a voice shrills in her ear. The Doctor stiffens and looks down at his sweater in surprise. Rudolph’s nose is glowing, and the fabric Santa shrieks again.

Oh. She hadn’t known it talked.

“Ooooh, brilliant!” The Doctor squeals, prodding at his chest until he finds the button that activates the voice. She needs to stop him now or he’ll be playing with it all night.

“I do have another gift for you,” she purrs. “But we’ll have to move to the bedroom for it.”

“Really? But you haven’t had time to put anything in the bedroom, and there weren’t any presents in there earlier - oh…” His eyes light up in sudden understanding. “Are you going to wear the suit?” he asks hopefully.

“The suit?” she repeats. He can’t possibly mean what she thinks he means. He’s odd, but not that odd.

“The Santa suit!” he says. Okay. Maybe he _is_ that odd.

“You want me to put on the Santa suit. For sex,” she says slowly. Maybe he’d somehow not understood what she’d meant?

But he nods excitedly. “You said you would if I wore the sweater,” he says, and gestures towards his chest pointedly.

It’s gotta be some sort of alien thing, she tells herself. Or maybe it‘s some kink of Donna‘s that he‘d inherited. “You like that sort of thing,” she says warily. 

“No… I just want to be able to take it off you,” he says, his voice dropping into a husky growl. “Show you just how naughty I can be. I just… want to do something Christmas-y.”

Ah. Now _that_ she can deal with. “All right,” she grins. “But you have to keep the sweater on.”

He pouts. “Deal,” he sighs.

She heads into the loo and changes into the suit, and when she comes out, he’s sprawled across the bed, wearing nothing but the hideous sweater and the extra-large gift ribbon placed over his groin. It clashes alarmingly with his come hither expression.

It’s actually hotter than she expected, this naughty little strip tease and the subsequent activities. She just wishes the damned sweater wouldn’t yell “Ho, ho, ho!” whenever things start to get interesting.

~tbc~

A/N: And another cliché: Ten-II vs. the toaster, which has somehow replaced the Master as the Doctor’s mortal enemy. It seems to be a rule of all post-JE fic that he somehow destroy the toaster in some spectacular manner.

Also, once again I have no idea if things like sitting on Santa’s lap or ugly holiday sweaters are common in the UK. So, if not, I’m going to cheat and play the Alternate Universe card.


	3. Christmas Together

**Part Three – Christmas Together**

 

When they wake up that Christmas morning, the Doctor is still wearing the ugly sweater, but it has been joined by Rose’s Santa hat. She is still wearing the wig and beard. “Good present?” she murmurs sleepily.

“The best,” the Doctor says purrs. “I’ll have to be naughty every year if that’s what I’m going to get.”

“Mmm…” she agrees. “If you want the rest of your gifts, though, we have to get up and head to Mum’s.”

He groans, but he really wants presents. He’s not even a month old, after all, and he has a childlike enthusiasm about being surprised with gifts. “’kay,” he says, dragging himself reluctantly from her embrace. “You have to open yours before we go, though,” he says, before stumbling off to the kitchen for coffee. He’s not sure if his need for coffee is a human thing or a Donna thing, but it’s inconvenient, and gets in the way of fun things, like watching Rose unwrap her gifts. He fixes a cup then settles on the sofa, the TARDIS coral in one arm. Rose sits on the floor, presents stacked around her. She waits until the Doctor is seated before digging in.

The presents were… ‘safe,’ Rose supposes is the best way to describe them. Perfumes and bath supplies, make-up to replace what he’d used up in his experiments, some clothing (he really does have a good eye for fashion, she decides, as she admires a particularly stunning blouse), a few trinkets she suspects caught his eye because they were shiny, and a half-empty box of expensive chocolates (she suspects he’d needed the other half to maintain the energy he’d needed to put all the Christmas decorations together.)

The Doctor watches quietly, sipping at his coffee absently. He’d tried hard with the presents, but he freely admits he hadn’t known what to give her and had relied on guidance from the salespeople. There is one gift, however, that he’d come up with on his own. He’s saving that one for later.

After Rose finishes, and kisses him in gratitude, they get ready to head to the Tyler mansion. Much to Rose’s dismay, the Doctor wears the hideous sweater beneath his favourite blue suit.

Jackie greets them at the door. She hugs Rose, and is about to pull a squirming Doctor into a rib-cracking embrace when she catches sight of the pink blanket in the Doctor’s arm.

“What is - Rose, you _didn’t!_ ” Jackie howls. “He’s not even been here a month!”

“What?” the Doctor says, alarmed. A shrill Jackie is a slap-happy Jackie. He gives Rose a wild-eyed look. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t - ” Rose protests. “Mum, you would have known - ”

“Is it his, then?” Jackie demands. “Bad enough I’ve had to worry about you comin’ home pregnant with an alien baby; now I have to worry about him having one?”

“Wait, what?” the Doctor yelps. Before he can repeat himself, Rose steps in. “Mum, it’s not what you think,” she says firmly.

“It’s a TARDIS,” the Doctor says indignantly, opening the blanket and giving her a look at the amber-hued coral chunk. His voice raises several octaves. “Why would you even think that I - ”

Rose grabs his hand and lead him inside before she accidentally confesses that her mum’s not the only one with concerns that he’s more female than he lets on.

He makes a beeline towards the massive tree, and squeals in delight when he sees just how many of the presents have his name on them. Not as many as he’d gotten Rose, but then, he’s never really received any before, so even a small amount makes him happy.

The Doctor immediately tears into them, making a mess that rivaled any that Tony had made. Rose and the rest of her family stand several feet back, afraid of getting in range of the blur of hands and gift wrap shrapnel and perhaps finding themselves ‘unwrapped.’ Although, Rose makes a mental note to see if he can be this… handy in bed.

She’d picked up things she thought would appeal to him: a laptop of his very own (which compels him to tell her that her laptop no longer functions quite the same way as before), a history program that will hopeful allow him to learn the history of Pete’s World (he sometimes doesn’t grasp, for example, that 1587 comes _after_ 1231), a box of Legos (hey, she still likes playing with them with Tony; why not have fun with her own big kid?) and edible body paint.

He stares at the last for a long moment, before squirting it on his hand and gingerly tasting it. Then he eagerly laps it up, and is about to squirt out more before she stops him. “That’s for us,” she says. 

“Really?” he says, baffled.

“For you to lick off me,” she drops her voice before her mum can scold her. The Doctor’s eyes widen in understanding.

Before Rose can further explain the use of edible body paint in detail, Jackie interrupts by handing them each gifts. Rose’s is a handbag that goes with the evening dress she and her mother had picked out last week. The Doctor’s gift makes both of them stare.

It’s a knitted blue police box, standing about a foot and a half high, slightly lopsided but still immediately recognizable.

“It’s a TARDIS!” the Doctor says delightedly. 

“Made it myself,” Jackie says proudly. “The panels were the hardest; couldn’t remember how many there were, and I think the windows are the wrong size, but I did it.”

“I didn’t know you could knit,” Rose says.

“Knitting club. Every Tuesday.” Jackie shrugs.

“I thought you went to book club,” Rose says, confused.

“I do now. Got kicked out of the knitting club because they didn’t trust me with sharp metal objects. But I was there long enough to learn how to do that.” She keeps her tone neutral, but looks thrilled at the Doctor’s reaction. He’s clinging to it like his life depends on it, and Rose suspects it’s going to share the bed with them tonight. 

“Thank you! But… I didn’t get anything for you.” The Doctor’s face falls.

Jackie ruffles his hair. “You don’t need to. You make my daughter happy; that’s gift enough. Besides, Rose signed your name on the gift she picked out for me, so really, you did.” She heads off towards the kitchen to check the progress of Christmas dinner, Tony in tow. Pete had vanished earlier, mumbling something about ‘work’ but more likely playing one of the new video games he’d claimed he’d gotten for Tony, despite the toddler being too young for them.

The Doctor and Rose were suddenly alone. He briefly considers asking Rose to head to one of the guest bedrooms and demonstrate the proper use of edible body paint ( _brilliant_ invention, that!) but he really isn’t ready yet to face the trauma of having Jackie walking in on them.

But this is the perfect time for his ‘special project.’ His hand slips into his pocket, and he clears his throat.

“I do have another gift for you,” he says, suddenly shy. He pulls a small package from his jacket pocket and hands it to her carefully. “I didn’t have the shopgirl’s help with this one.” 

Rose accepts it gravely. Whatever this gift was, it meant a lot to him. She tries not to rip the wrapping too eagerly. When she peels the last of the shiny paper away and a small silver tube falls into her hands, she stares.

“It’s a pen.” She forces a smile; not the most exciting of gifts, but he just seems so pleased with himself, she can‘t bear to disappoint him. “It’s the pen from Pete’s office,” she continues with a quiet horror, as she examines the pen more closely. The platinum plated pen is a gift from the Japanese empress for Pete’s services in eradicating the Cybermen threat in her country, and its value is calculated to be in the higher end of the five-digit range. It had been embossed with Pete’s name, but that has been scratched out, and her own carved in its place in uneven script, along with a series of circles and hexagons she recognizes as the Doctor’s native language.

Pete is going to kill him. Not because the Doctor has stolen the valuable pen, but because this means the Doctor, who only has limited security clearance, has somehow bypassed Torchwood’s tightest security and broken into Pete’s office without getting caught.

The Doctor rubs the back of his neck guiltily. “Yeah, welllll… it was the only pen I could find with a casing that wouldn’t melt when the sonic is activated. But I left him another pen to replace it, one with a fluffy orange googly-eyed thing at the tip!”

Yep. The Doctor is so dead. Wait… “Sonic?”

He nods. “A sonic pen. Got the idea from Ms. Foster, not that I’m not brilliant enough to come up with the idea on my own – I did make Sarah Jane’s sonic lipstick, after all – and it seemed like a good choice for you. It doesn’t have many settings, but it’ll open locks. Better than lock picks, anyway.” Rose grimaces. Ah. So he’d heard that story, then. But she’d regained full use of her finger, so it wasn’t a total disaster.

“Thank you,” she breathes. He’d been babbling about building a new screwdriver, but she hadn’t realised he was planning to build something for her as well.

He grins, pleased that she likes it. He decides not to tell her just yet that Pete had given him the pen, telling him to please get the ugly thing off his desk.

“I have one more gift for you, too,” Rose says, pulling a thin package from beneath the sofa, where she’d slipped it when the Doctor was distracted. The Doctor frowned at it, perhaps sensing there was something different about this one. Then he slowly opened it, fingers trembling as they brushed against a warm metal object that seems to come alive at his touch, causing a stirring in senses he’d thought dormant. His breath catches in his throat at the achingly familiar sensation he‘d thought he‘d never feel again.

“Rose… is this…?” He carefully plucks it from the tissue paper and holds it in his palm. “It is! Rose, you can’t give me your TARDIS key!” He tries to hand it to her, but she places her hands around his and closes his fingers around the cool metal. She then helps him slip the chain around his neck and nestles the key against his chest. A tear slips down his face. 

“Yes I can,” she whispers. “I don’t need it anymore, Doctor. I have you.” She leans forward, until she’s only inches away from his face. Her gaze flickers upward. “There’s mistletoe up there,” she tells him. “You know what it’s for, right?”

“To keep away werewolves,” he murmurs.

“Well, that too,” Rose says, shutting her eyes and brushing her lips against his. But before they can make full contact, Tony thunders past them, squealing. The Doctor stiffens when he sees what Tony has clutched in one chubby fist, which he’s bringing towards his mouth. He springs to his feet and sprints after Tony, who is surprisingly fast for someone still in nappies.

“Stop him! He’s chewing on the TARDIS!”

~fin~


End file.
